Earth Shake
by Dark Puck
Summary: Morgan is called to Chicago to deal with a rampaging elemental, and finds more than he expected. WARNING: OFC, musical theatre, hints that Morgan has actual human feelings.
1. Chapter 1

Warden Donald Morgan was over a hundred years old, for all he looked half that. He'd been a Warden for most of his life now, and was therefore a skilled and canny fighter.

The earth elemental he was currently battling was even older than he, and was a bit annoyed at having been pulled out of its home in the NeverNever by some experimenting wizard. It was currently expressing its irritation by attempting to destroy a portion of Chicago. Since Dresden was occupied elsewhere, Morgan had been called to deal with the creature.

Man and beast had already dealt each other solid blows, but Morgan's fragile human body had gotten the worst of it when the elemental's tail had caught him just underneath the ribs and catapulted him into a building via brick wall. Mentally swearing, Morgan fought to extract himself from the rubble while the elemental tore at the wall he'd just passed through, trying to get at him.

A chorus of screams registered on the edge of his consciousness, of which the elemental quite rightly was at the fore. Morgan didn't even bother to turn – the creature could break through at any moment, and to have his back to it at that time would be suicidal. He would have to play this carefully – while _he_ would do his best to keep the mortals from being injured, the elemental would have no such restraint. Bringing his sword up to the guard position, he waited.

Someone behind him overrode the screams, bellowing, "BACK IN LINE!" At least one person asked something in a quavering tone, only to be shouted down. "I don't care what it is! Opening night is _tomorrow_ and your sadistic bitch of a director wants this dance re-choreographed, so by God it will be re-choreographed! Again!"

Morgan noted the words, but they didn't sink in – the elemental was his sole focus, and he had already learned the hard way that attempting to manipulate it with magic only served to piss it off even more. He braced himself, ducked the tail as the beast attempted to bash in his skull with it, and rocketed into the opening that had been left for him, planting one foot on the creature's back to propel himself up and driving his sword in as far as he could.

Unfortunately, this didn't kill it; instead, it reared onto its hind legs and threw the Warden off. Morgan flew back several feet and crashed hard into a row of seats. The woman who'd shouted earlier didn't appear to notice or care. "Do you _mind?"_ she yelled. "I am _trying_ to conduct a rehearsal in here and you aren't helping!"

As he so often did with Dresden, Morgan replied without thinking. "Why don't you ask it to aim for the wall next time?" he growled, getting to his feet and lunging for the elemental.

"Good idea!" whoever-it-was retorted. "Aim for the wall next time, and stay the hell away from my stage!"

_What a strange woman_, he thought detachedly as he dove to avoid a blow from the earth beast – he'd forgotten his sword was still stuck in it. Yelling a word in Old English, he slammed his hand against the ground and let his power flow through it and to the fallen bricks, which rose into the air and obediently flew at him.

The elemental was in the way.

The bricks shattered into powder as they crashed into it, and the creature roared its fury, turning towards the new assault as Morgan had intended. He was on his feet again, pounding towards it and then he was on it with a leap, his hands closing around the hilt of his sword. With a shout of triumph, he hauled back, dislodging the weapon from the stone and then leaping clear as the elemental tried to throw him again.

There were a few wobbly screams from behind him, but no sounds of running or chaos, only the same woman counting loudly to eight, over and over again, and a scattered round of applause when he retrieved his sword. Whatever was going on back there, it was at least keeping itself out of his way.

_Good_.

Morgan saw and opening and took it, taking a grazing blow to the shoulder as he did so, this time driving his sword into its neck.

_That_ did the trick; the earth beast's roar of fury was cut off, and then it sagged, collapsed, and disintegrated into a pile of sand.

From the mortals, there was nothing but terrified silence, until the Woman (she was beginning to deserve the capital letter) cleared her throat and asked, in a meaningful tone, "Why aren't you all dancing?" Immediately the sounds of mass movement resumed.

With the threat gone at last, Morgan turned slowly to see just what it was he had inadvertently interrupted.

It looked like a rehearsal for something; either that, or he'd run across a very strange cult. About fifteen people in frilly costumes were doing some kind of close-order skip in front of an elaborately-painted set, and being watched by a red-haired woman in a leotard and jeans. Without turning around, she said, "That thing had better be dead, and you'd better not be bleeding on the carpet."

"There's nothing left of it but sand," Morgan replied, ignoring her second comment in favour of checking on his injuries. Bruised ribs, possibly broken; pounding headache; aches all over, slash across the chest – he _was_ bleeding on the carpet.

"Keep dancing," she snapped, though he hoped not to him, and hopped off the stage, heading in his direction. When she got close enough for a good look, she sighed and said, "You _are_ bleeding on the carpet. Hell. Bloodstains are a bitch to get out, you know that? Come on, I've got a first-aid kit backstage."

"My injuries are a bit too serious for that," he told her calmly as he shrugged out of his cloak. Turning it so that the blood was facing the ceiling, he let it drop to the floor and took a step forward to use it as a makeshift tarp. Unfortunately, all the strength left his body in a rush, and he crashed heavily to one knee.

She hissed through her teeth. "Looks like. First question. Would you prefer an ambulance or a ride to the hospital?"

"I have bad luck with ambulances," he replied, which wasn't entirely a lie – even if he'd never been in one, he knew that his magic would short out whatever equipment they had.

"Okay," she said. "My Volvo seems wizard-proof, so that's fair enough. Second question: do you lot have a hospital you all use, or will Cook County have to take its chances with its equipment?"

He didn't have the energy to be surprised that she knew what he was. Not all mortals suffered from wilful blindness. "I'll attempt to refrain from shorting out the hospital equipment."

"Right. One second." She ran back up to the stage, called a frilly-skirted girl over, and said something very fast and very quietly, disappeared backstage for a moment, then came back with the first-aid kit. "Can you walk, or do you need a shoulder?"

Morgan eyed the woman for a moment, wondering if she was up to handling his weight – he was not a small man. Perhaps she would call one of the men over to help. _Then again_, he thought dryly_, she probably wouldn't if it would interrupt the rehearsal_. "I'll need a moment, but I should be able to walk."

She gave him a faintly crooked smile. "I promise I'm stronger than I look if you can't," she told him, dryly, and knelt, a lot more gracefully than he had. "Might as well deal with that cut if you're going to need a moment anyway."

"As you wish," Morgan told her, distantly admiring her poise and wondering idly if she'd been a dancer before becoming a choreographer.

Either way, she clearly had some experience with first aid. "I'm Jennifer Tarleton, by the way," she said, briskly slathering a gauze pad with disinfectant. "You are?"

"Morgan," he replied, bracing himself for a sharper pain against the dull throb his wound had receded to.

"Just Morgan?" she asked, and stuck the gauze on over the slash across his chest.

He hissed softly in pain before answering. "My surname will do for now." He only gave his first name to those he trusted.

She shrugged, and began taping the gauze on. "If you say so. I swear, you wizards are all crazy."

He raised an eyebrow at that. "And you're quite experienced with wizards, Miss Tarleton?"

A quick confused look crossed her face and was gone before he could tell what she was reacting to. "Dated one once," she said. "That was more than enough experience for me."

He nodded and dropped the subject, glancing back at the pile of sand and the wreckage of the back of the theatre. She followed his glance, and sighed. "Oh, director's gonna have my ass for that. Ah well. Not like it's actually my fault this time."

Morgan was silent for a long moment, considering the damage. "I would ordinarily suggest that you tell the truth. Unfortunately, nobody would believe you if you said a wizard did it."

"No one would believe me anyway," she said, dryly. "I'll just say whatever the actors decide to say. Far be it from me to undermine their credibility any more than they've already done."

He almost smiled at that. Instead, he asked, "What exactly are they rehearsing for?" This was a bit more diplomatic than what he _wanted_ to ask, which was _Why didn't you get them the hell out of the danger zone?!_

She snorted. "_Anything Goes._ You'd think the director would have a bit more of a sense of humour, doing a show like that. Do you think you can walk now?"

In reply, Morgan slowly rose to his feet, and maintained his balance. Good. He took a careful step, and remained upright. Even better.

"It's all downhill from here," she said. She probably meant it to be reassuring, though it was a bit hard to tell. "You still want your cloak? And your... the hell is that, a broadsword?"

"Yes," he replied softly. He would only ever leave the badges of his office behind if his life was endangered.

She shrugged, draped the cloak over her arm, and picked up the sword without any apparent difficulty. The first-aid kit she left where it was. "Down the aisle and out the stage door to your left," she said, and pointed with her chin. "My car's the closest to the exit. Choreographer's privilege."

He nodded and slowly made his way to the exit, taking care not to overextend himself. At least Dresden was out of town.

Miss Tarleton sailed out the door a moment or two after he'd left, and tossed the cloak and sword into the backseat of an old battleship of a car. "In you get," she said, trotting around to the driver's side. "Kill my car and I'll hurt you."

Morgan did not reply, and also did not kill the car. Actively suppressing his magic helped with that. She seemed to forget he was there after a moment or two, and after about five minutes she began to sing along with the radio. Off-key.

Usually, singing off-key drove Morgan into a homicidal rage of Dresdenesque proportions. Somehow, however... this seemed cute. He decided that it was the blood loss talking.

Two songs later and several steps sharper, she pulled into the drive-through by the emergency room and stopped. "Want me to come in with you?" It almost seemed an afterthought, the way she said it. Almost.

_Yes_. "I'll be fine," his traitor mouth said. "Thank you for the ride, Miss Tarleton."

"You're welcome." Her mouth quirked up at the corner and she added, "Do try not to crash any more rehearsals. You're welcome to the show, though."

"Being thrown through a brick wall was not on my agenda for the day." Then again, neither had been fighting an earth elemental.

"Better you than me," was the unsympathetic reply. "Get in there and make sure you didn't crack your skull open, will you? And don't forget your sword."

He was already reaching for sword and cloak. Fortunately, Luccio had made an arrangement with this hospital. He'd have to mention it to Dresden at some point. But later. When the younger Warden earned it.

She watched him pick them up, and cleared her throat. "Well, goodbye then, Mr. Morgan."

He nodded. "Goodbye, Miss Tarleton."

* * *

Five AM. 

Far too early in the morning to be awake, especially after his hellish day beforehand, but Morgan had been oddly bothered by the damage he had left in his wake after the battle yesterday. So when he found himself awake without reason before dawn, he decided to do something about it, checking himself out of the hospital AMA and finding his way back to the theatre. Ignoring the yellow police tape surrounding the large hole in the wall, Morgan stepped inside the building and considered his options. After a quarter-hour, he nodded to himself and got to work, gathering the material he would need for this spell. By seven, both the wall and the theatre seats had been repaired, and the blood was out of the carpeting.

Exhausted, Morgan sank into a chair and winced as he pulled at his ribs which, according to the doctor, had been broken and not bruised as he had initially thought. _Hell_, he thought. _I overdid it_. Alone with only his thoughts, the Warden allowed himself to be grateful that Dresden had gotten Chicago declared neutral in the war against the Red Court. If one of the nobles caught him in this state, he'd be dead.

Morgan closed his eyes, intending to rest them for just one minute. He didn't even notice when he fell asleep.

Someone was tapping him gently on the shoulder. "Hey, wizard-man, wake up."

His eyes snapped open and he reflexively went for his sword, but he stayed his hand when he recognised the voice and the face. "Miss Tarleton," he greeted the redhead.

"Mr Morgan," she said, with another of those crooked smiles. "I thought I told you not to crash any more rehearsals."

"It was unintentional," he replied with an ease he hadn't felt in years. "I'd only intended to rest for a moment."

"I meant the wall, not the falling asleep. You've got half my actors convinced they're hallucinating." She sat back on her heels and studied his face. "No skull fractures?"

"Apparently my head is too thick for that."

The smile got wider. "Fair enough. Naptime's over, though, and I have to chase you out because the house opens in fifteen minutes."

He paused. "What time _is_ it?"

"Twelve forty-five. We've got an early matinee."

Morgan muttered a curse. Five hours he'd lost to dreamless sleep – which, granted, had been a nice change.

She cocked her head. "I'd have woken you up sooner if I thought it was important," she said, a faint question in her tone.

"I lost more time than I intended to," was all he would say to that as he got to his feet. He looked down at her.

"I'd ask what for, but I doubt I'd get an answer." She stood as well, and gestured towards the back of the theatre. "Lobby's that way." There was a brief pause, and then she added, "I meant what I said yesterday, you know. You're more than welcome to come to the actual show."

He smiled and didn't answer. He was physically able go back on duty, and would have if he wasn't certain that Luccio would have his head on a platter for it. Why not see the show? He liked theatre anyway. At last he said, "We'll see," and carefully headed for the lobby.

Morgan considered his options a second time, then went ahead and purchased a ticket. It had been a very long time since he'd seen a show of any sort. It was a somewhat bizarre directorial interpretation of _Anything Goes,_ but it wasn't a bad show, and the re-choreographed dance went well enough from what he could tell. Miss Tarleton was nowhere to be seen.

For all that, he had enjoyed himself despite the lingering aches in his body, remnants from yesterday's battle. The doctor had told him that the pain would last for a time and had offered him strong painkillers. Morgan, distrustful of strong medicine, had elected to take ibuprofen instead. He eased himself from his seat with a soft groan.

"Did you check yourself out of the hospital, or did they let you go?" Miss Tarleton asked from behind him, sounding mildly interested.

Morgan had been a wizard entirely too long to be startled by someone being behind him unexpectedly – or to like it. "Do you not make noise when you walk?"

"Not in jazz shoes, I don't." She came around in front of him and propped her hands on her hips. "You didn't answer my question."

"You're right. I didn't." He wasn't sure if he didn't want to answer, or if he just didn't want her to call him an idiot. And she would.

She raised an eyebrow. "Fine. Be that way. Tell me what you thought of the show, and praise the dancing as lavishly as you please. I won't blush."

"The show was... interesting," he admitted. In the same way that watching Dresden attempt diplomacy was interesting. "I did enjoy the dancing, however. It made the most sense."

"If by interesting you mean the director's smoking something..." she muttered, and added, louder, "It's a musical. It's a _Cole Porter_ musical. It isn't supposed to make sense."

Morgan smiled. "It made more sense than Moulin Rouge."

He managed to surprise a laugh out of her. "Oh, come on, Moulin Rouge was at least funny. And had Ewan McGregor making out with a redheaded chick."

"And randomly breaking out into _the Sound of Music_." He shook his head. "I'm grateful the projector malfunctioned halfway through."

"Tsk. Don't even try to tell me it wasn't your fault." She shook her head. "Some people just don't appreciate eye candy."

"Ewan McGregor may like men, but I do not," Morgan told her. Then his mouth added, "You might have a point about redheads, however."

_That_ smile was definitely an invitation. "Some of us aren't wearing wigs, either."

A lesser man might have made a not-very-witty remark about carpets, drapes, and the matching thereof. Morgan was a product of a less-vulgar time, however, and such a remark was simply not in his character. "I would never have considered that your hair was anything but natural."

A flicker of disappointment crossed her eyes, but the smile remained. "You'd be surprised how many people do. I keep asking them if they honestly think I'd dye my hair _this_ colour, but they don't seem to get the point."

He shook his head. "Some people have no manners." He considered for a moment. "You're very intriguing, Miss Tarleton." A pause. "Perhaps we could have a discussion over lunch some time?"

She gave him a brilliant grin. "I'd love to, but my schedule is utterly insane and sometimes doesn't allow for lunch. Care to make it dinner?"

"That would be fine," he said, giving her one of his rare genuine smiles.

She pulled a card out of her pocket and handed it to him. "My phone number. Let me know when you're available." She paused, and added, "Somehow I think you're the one with the most unpredictable schedule."

"You're very observant, Miss Tarleton," he said, tucking the card into his jacket after glancing at it. He would need to find a telephone, apparently. "Thank you."

"Quite welcome. Do I get to know your first name now?" It sounded like she was teasing. Mostly.

"Donald," he said without hesitating. If he was going to have dinner with a woman, it could only be presumed he trusted her enough to tell her his given name.

Up went the eyebrow again. "Really? Ouch. Can I just keep using your last name?"

He had unfortunately had to get used to that reaction. "Most people call me Morgan anyway."

"Morgan it is. Most people call me Jen." She paused again and touched her chin thoughtfully. "Most people with a death wish call me Jenny."

Morgan wasn't fond of nicknames, and never had been. "May I call you Jennifer?"

A doubtful expression crossed her face. "If you like. No one's ever really used my full name before, but hey, I'm open for something new."

"I don't see why. Jennifer is a lovely name."

She shrugged. "It may be a lovely name, but apparently it's too long when people need to yell it."

"I thought that was middle names were for," he murmured.

"Nobody I work for knows my middle name," she said, and added, archly, "And you're going to have to get to know me a whole lot better before I'll tell you."

He smiled. "Of course, Jennifer."

Her ears tinged the faintest shade of pink, and she shook her head briskly. "You should go lie down," she said, after a moment. "I'm fairly sure they didn't let you out of the hospital willingly."

Morgan inclined his head to her slightly. "I should, and will. I'll see you later, then, Jennifer."

"Feel better. And don't forget to call."

"I won't," he promised, then walked away from her.

* * *

_This story is a co-op between myself and TigerKat; the character of Jennifer Tarleton belongs to her. This is what happens when we decide that Morgan needs to get laid._


	2. Chapter 2

Vanessa Luchevski had just gotten up and gotten a cup of coffee into her before the phone rang. Lucky for the unknown caller that she had gotten that cup of coffee, or she might have stabbed them through the phone line. She detoured on her way to her second cup and picked up the receiver. "Hello?"

The voice on the other end was decidedly masculine, and very sure of itself. "Is Jennifer Tarleton available?"

Vanessa felt her eyebrows go up. Sexy voice. "No, she's not," she said, and reached for the message pad with her free hand. "May I take a message?"

A moment of silence, then a sigh. "Yes, please. Tell her that Morgan called and will try again in approximately six hours."

"No callback number?" she asked, scribbling the message down and glancing at the clock for an approximate time. Bit late, but then Jen rarely went to bed before midnight.

"I will be elsewhere then," was the somewhat unhelpful reply.

That made precisely no sense, and Vanessa almost said so before she remembered that Jen would kill her if she screwed up a potential date. "I'll give her the message, then," she said, and added, "Jen should be back then."

"Thank you, miss," he replied, then hung up.

Consumed by curiosity, Vanessa called in sick to work, and was sitting sideways on the table when her roommate came home.

Jen tossed her stuff on the couch and gave Vanessa an odd look. "You're home late," she said.

"Work didn't need me," Vanessa said, waving an airy hand. "Message for you." She proffered the paper and watched Jen's face closely.

Jen read it quickly, and smiled a sudden bright smile. "Oh, good, I've been hoping to hear from him," she said. She tucked the paper in her pocket and went to make coffee.

"That's it?" Vanessa asked incredulously, hopping off the table and following Jen into the kitchen. "'Oh, good, I've been hoping to hear from him?' Come on, Jen, who is he?"

"That's it," Jen replied, and smirked at her. "If and when anything comes of it, I'll be sure to introduce you."

At approximately six hours after the first call, the phone rang again.

"Got it!" Vanessa sang out.

"Oh, don't you dare," Jen snapped, and half-shoved Vanessa down on the couch. She got to the phone first by virtue of longer legs and shot her roommate a quelling glare as she picked up. "Hello?"

A familiar deep voice came on the other line. "Jennifer?"

She smiled again, almost involuntarily, the same bright smile Vanessa had seen earlier. "Hi," she said. "Good to hear from you. I was worried you forgot."

Across the room, Vanessa made faces at her, but was kind enough not to speak.

"I apologise. Things got a little... hectic."

If you called recruiting for the Wardens _hectic_. At least Dresden was physically an adult, even if he had yet to reach that stage mentally.

"Don't worry about it," she said, leaning back against the wall. "I had to get through that godsbedamned show myself." It felt bizarrely natural, talking to him, when this was only the third time she'd ever spoken to him. Judging from the faces Vanessa was making, it didn't sound like it was.

"How did that go, by the way?" he asked. "Was your director pleased?"

"Beautifully," she said. "Mel was happy as a pretentious clam. Box office wasn't too displeased, either. I think the only one who genuinely didn't like it was me."

A snort of amusement. "I did tell you that the dancing made the most sense. This was remiss of me. It implies anything else made sense."

She laughed, and dodged the pillow Vanessa threw at her with practiced ease. "I am never working for Mel again. Ever, ever, ever. I can't believe he managed to make Cole Porter pretentious."

"Proof that not all miracles are good ones."

"Amen." Another pillow; this time it made an audible thump when it landed.

"...Jennifer?"

"Yes?" she asked, innocently, and gave Vanessa a death glare.

"Is everything all right?" There was an undercurrent to his voice now, one that was remarkably akin to worry.

"Perfectly fine," she said, mildly confused. "My roommate's just throwing pillows at me because I won't tell her anything about you, that's all."

Vanessa yelped._"Jen!"_

"Ah." And with that, the current was gone, leaving nothing but maddeningly opaque depths overlaid with a breeze of amusement. "The curious type?"

Jen gave Vanessa a sweetly amused smile that said, in no uncertain terms, 'you're a dead woman.' "You know what they say about curiosity and murder."

"Of course." A pause. "Speaking of curiosity."

"Hm?" She straightened, almost without knowing it.

"I'm going to be in Chicago next weekend. I was curious to know if the lunch offer is still open."

Jen managed not to say anything. She did let herself punch the air. "Of course it is," she said, her voice (she thought) commendably even. "When did you have in mind?"

"Is Saturday all right? Around twelve-thirty?"

"Sure." She smiled at nothing in particular and added, "You caught me at just the right time. The next show doesn't start rehersals until next month."

"I'd almost forgotten what good luck was." The tone of voice indicated an answering smile on the other end. "Do you have a place in mind?"

"I do if you like sandwiches," she said. "There's a great deli down the street that's actually affordable."

"That sounds wonderful. What is the address?"

She gave it to him, and said, "I'll meet you there at twelve-thirty, and if there's a crazy tall blonde hanging around, that's just Vanessa. Don't mind her."

Vanessa rolled her eyes. "You're a total bitch, Jen."

"You know you love me."

"On Saturday, then," said Morgan, seemingly oblivious to the byplay.

"Saturday," Jen repeated, and really did not want to hang up.

Unfortunately, there was no choice. "Fare well until then." A click; he'd hung up.

Jen hung up very slowly, then indulged herself in a fit of air-punching. "I have a_date_ and he is _sexy!"_

"Congrats!" Vanessa said, curling her legs under her on the couch's one remaining seat cushion. "So tell me all about him!"

"His name is Morgan, he's sexy, and I have a _date,"_ Jen said, grinning. "And that is all you get to know for the moment because it's all I'm really thinking."

Her roommate rolled her eyes. "If you didn't pay your half of the rent on time you would be _so_ evicted."

* * *

Jen was rather proud of herself--she was only five minutes late, which for her was practically early. She paused a bit down the street to tug her top straight, and make sure she still looked nice without looking like she'd made an effort to look nice. There was an art to first dates, after all, and she was past master at it.

Morgan was already there, though he had thoughtfully forgone his grey cloak. There was no sign of the sword either, though with wizards that didn't mean much. He was patiently waiting for her.

She made her way up to him and gave him her best brilliant smile. "Morning!" she said, cheerfully.

He smiled back, though it was small. On the other hand, he didn't seem as though he smiled very often. "Good morning, Jennifer," he replied.

"I see you found the place all right," she said, a touch idiotically, but everyone said stupid things the first time around. "How're you doing?"

"Much better than I was." The tone was bland, but there was a hint that she had a lot to do with the sudden improvement.

That hint made her insides warm unexpectedly, and she gave him another smile. She was really smiling rather a lot lately. "Glad to hear it."

He offered her his arm with another smile of his own. "Shall we?"

"Yes please," she said, and took it, after a slight pause. Really, no one had ever done _that_ before. Of course, no one had ever called her 'Miss Tarleton' or 'Jennifer' before. Overall, it was an extremely pleasant change.

As they entered the restaurant, they attracted several looks, but the wizard ignored them with the long patience of one who was used to such attention.

Jen, on the other hand, gave back look for steady look until they reached the counter, then grinned at the teenage girl behind it. "Morning, Allison."

"Morning," the girl replied, and glanced at Morgan. "How's life?"

"Going wonderfully, thanks. This is Allison," she said, in an aside to Morgan. "She makes the best damn tuna salad this side of Philadelphia."

He nodded to the girl. "A pleasure."

Allison gave him a steady look a match for Jen's, then grinned unexpectedly. "Likewise. Nice catch, Jen."

"Please to be shutting up now and making my usual, thanks."

Morgan took some time to read the menu, absently stroking his beard as he did so. After a moment, he elected to try something different and ordered a Reuben.

Jen made a face. "I don't get sauerkraut," she said, sliding along down the line to wait for the sandwiches. "I mean, it's basically cabbage turned sour and ew."

"It depends on where you get it," Morgan, an experience traveller, explained. "It's normally better to get it in a small, family-owned place." He considered. "Though the best I ever had was at a truck stop near Landstuhl."

"Landstuhl being where?" she asked, and added, "I dunno, I'm not terribly fond of cabbage anyway. It's basically washed-out lettuce, isn't it?"

"Landstuhl, Germany." It had been nice to visit with the damage from the Great War mostly gone. "And as with all things, it depends on the preparation."

The look she gave him this time was genuinely impressed. "You've been to Germany?"

He considered his next words very carefully. "A few times on tour with the British Army and once with the Wardens."

Oh, so many questions there. She'd figured from the slight accent that he was either an ex-pat Brit or just on vacation here, and the British Army confirmed it. But what the hell was a Warden? Probably something best not discussed in a crowded deli. "I've never been outside Illinois," she said. "Except once, but that was kind of an ill-fated trip anyway."

He raised an eyebrow. "May I enquire as to what happened?"

She winced. "I went to New York to try and make my living as a dancer." And ended up stripping, but she was sure as hell not going to share that little tidbit now. "It didn't work, so I moved to Chicago. The theatre scene is a little more forgiving here."

"I see," Morgan replied. "It's good you found a place to settle."

"Yeah," she said. "And I do like it here. It's a nice city, I get to do what I love, and I'm sufficiently far enough away from my mother to pretend she doesn't exist."

A quirk of the mouth that was definitely a smile. "Always a good thing," he agreed quietly. His mother had had several unkind comments to make when he had first joined the Army, and then later the Wardens.

"You're telling me." She rolled her eyes. "Parents. Can't live with them, wouldn't live without them."

"You should have heard my mother when I decided to move to America."

Ex-pat, then. She felt unreasonably relieved. "Bet you mine's better at the silent disapproval thing."

"No bet," he replied. "Mother was never silent if she could help it."

Jen laughed. "I like her already. It does nobody any good if you don't speak up when something sucks."

"You do have a point," he agreed.

"Fifteen," Allison yelled, and winked at Jen. "Yours is ready. Enjoy."

Jen wasn't quite sure if Allison meant the sandwiches or the date, and wasn't sure she wanted to guess, either.

Morgan fetched the sandwiches and let Jennifer lead him to a table, putting the food down long enough to hold the chair out for her.

She gave him a look halfway between gratified and puzzled, and asked, "Why do you keep doing that? Not that I mind."

He looked confused. "What do you mean?"

"The chivalry thing." She waved a hand in the air. "Holding chairs and such."

He looked as puzzled as she was. "I... never really thought about it, to be honest. It's how I've always done things."

"Huh." She rested her chin on her hand for a moment before reaching to unwrap her sandwich. "Not many men see things that way. Not these days."

Morgan knew that well enough. "I suppose I'm old-fashioned," he said. If only she knew how true that was.

"I kinda like it," she said, and smiled at him. "It's fashionable these days to get ticked off but I like being pampered sometimes."

His returning smile was wide. "I'll keep that in mind."

Jen ducked her head in a brief fit of uncharacteristic shyness and grinned at her sandwich for a moment. Goddamn, but she'd gotten lucky.

Morgan calmly unwrapped his own food and took a bite.

_Hmm. Not bad. Change every now and then is a good thing_. He eyed Jennifer. _Sometimes a very good thing_.

* * *

Yes, I am somewhat fond of drawing parallels between Harry and Morgan. It better highlights their differences, don't you think?

Jennifer Tarleton played by TigerKat24.

* * *


End file.
